Modern convenience means dialing a phone for a team of policemen who carry my exit. They're cleansing the peasants, removing the vermin, decreasing the surplus, ignoring miasmas that rise from the bottles of pills and the hormones we eat at each meal... And the cleaning solutions that climb in our cells for a joyride—to copy their asses forever inside the great Xerox within... I'm leaking. My beaker is broken, my boundaries tested by molecule chisels that nibble my innards and dazzle my channels of sodium; diverting those flashes of insight that clamor in synapses, to something more placid.
Extremities dangle away from the center of mass. It's the symbol of targets wherever the warriors juggle by caliber. Soon we'll excise all extreme personalities; culling the herd with our leaden weed-whackers, to leave just a head and a package of guts. And squirming as worms in our offices, burning our stomachs on carpet, tripping on staples and paperclips; wearing pink and blue discuses, that holes punched through paper produced—they will stick to our skin like a smallpox. They'll bake us with halogens, beaming a silvery path; while the monitors watch us through cameras that watch as we witness the world turn to foam.
“A San Jose man who had tried to kill himself with a nail gun was shot and killed by police... Police tried to contact the man from outside the home. But when he did not respond to repeated requests, officers broke in and found the man with self-inflicted wounds, Lopez said. He was also holding a 10-inch knife, and when he confronted the officers, they shot him, Lopez said.”
– Benny Evangelista, San Francisco Chronicle, August 30, 2010
http://www.sfgate.com/cgi-bin/article.cgi?f=/c/a/2010/08/30/BASE1F5ITI.DTL
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OHKCq_IMXdw
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